[TEXT—> Big Bro]: F O U N D ♡ Y O U !!!
Cloud flicks a few stray grains of badlands salt stuck to the weave of his shirt. The sudden buzz in his pocket goes unaddressed for the moment as he looks out over the horizon.
A short pit stop under the cover of an asymmetrical spire of pale stone grants some reprieve from the misty rain that carries the musty scent of petrichor with it as the skies darken and promises more inclement weather than a light shower.
Without looking away from the storm gaining momentum overhead, Cloud slips his hand into his pocket to retrieve his PHS. A brow arches up as he reads the preview message from his notifications.
Yeah. Okay.
A random, creepy text from an unknown number leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Some kid who got their hands on his PHS number from the local yellow pages or from one of the classifieds Tifa helped him post. Someone with too much time on their hands. Must be. Cloud drums his fingers along Fenrir's hood, considers the message displayed on his screen with a squint for a few more seconds, then pockets his phone without responding.
Best get a move on.
